


Boys Don't Cry

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Mindless Self Indulgence (Band), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Awkward Mikey Way, Bottom Gerard Way, F/M, Frerard, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Punk Frank Iero, Shy Gerard Way, Shy Mikey Way, Tags Are Hard, Teen Frank Iero, Teen Gerard Way, Top Frank Iero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25622455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: On one hand, I'm lying to my favorite person in the world about who I like.On the other, I tell the truth to my favorite person in the world, that I'm hopelessly in love with him, and risk losing him.I'd much rather lie about who I like.//Please keep in mind that this takes place in the 1980s, and many people believed that homosexuality caused HIV and AIDS, which we now know is not the case, but at the time, it was what was believed to be true. This isn't supposed to be offensive to anyone, I'm just trying to keep the time period realistic.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Frank Iero/Jamia Nestor, Lindsey Ballato/Gerard Way, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. There's A Difference Between Stealing A House And Just Letting It Rot

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've never written a long fic before. I am personally one of the largest procrastinators on the planet, so I'm not sure how frequent updates will be. I'll try to do at least one chapter every week.
> 
> On a side note, if a chapter is in italics, it is a flashback or something that happened in the past. If it's in normal text, then it is happening now (when the story takes place).

_The moving truck was what set me off. I didn't want anyone to move into the old, abandoned house next to mine._

_Me and my younger brother, Mikey, would spend hours playing there. It didn't matter what we played, because I got to spend time with my brother -- my best friend._

_I guess it is sort of pathetic that a ten year old boy's best friend is his seven year old brother, but I don't care. I don't want to be cool._

_Now, though, a family of three was moving in. Which meant Mikey and I would have to start playing in the lot behind the convenience store. There aren't nearly enough hiding spaces there as there were in the house._

_I hear my mom calling my name from downstairs, telling me that it's time to go welcome our new neighbors. Even though I don't want to, I trudge down the hall and down the stairs to the first floor._

_The second I get to the front door, my mom starts fussing over my appearance, telling me that I "should at least look presentable."_

_I look down at my outfit, not seeing anything wrong with it. My baggy Iron Maiden t-shirt, my too-big cargo shorts held up with a belt that used to be my dad's, and my feet wearing only my Adidas, no socks._

_"What's wrong with it?" I ask in a confused tone._

_She doesn't answer me, trying_ _to get my stringy black hair to stay down, and ultimately failing. "I just don't want our new neighbors thinking we're messy people," she explains finally._

_"But Mikey-" I start, pointing my finger at my little brother. Just ten minutes ago, he was covered in dirt from playing in the yard, wearing a shirt that hung past his knees. His brown hair was messy and sticking up at weird angles, his white-framed glasses crooked._

_Now, though, he appears to have also fallen victim to my mother's cleanliness. His hair is still a bit greasy, but it's staying down flat now, and all the dirt is gone from his face. His glasses are neatly propped up on the bridge of his nose. He's wearing a clean shirt, and even the Batman band-aids on his knees have been changed, swapped for plain ones. He doesn't seem to be thrilled about any of this, as a pout is clear on his face._

_I stop speaking, knowing that finishing my sentence would be useless. At least I didn't have to undergo what Mikey had to._

_I pull away violently when she tries to clean some of the dirt off my face with her spit. I draw the line at exchanging bodily fluids. She frowns, at me, irritated, but doesn't say anything else. She opens the front door, stepping out. I instinctively grab Mikey's hand, and he clings to me tightly as we walk down the driveway._

_He taps my shoulder, gesturing for me to bend down a little so he can whisper in my ear._

_Mikey's always been like this, not speaking to anyone but me and my mom. Even then, though, he has to speak in our ear. We think he may have some sort of autism, but he's too young for a definite diagnosis._

_"I don't want to give strangers our house," he whispers, lisping slightly._

_I think he knows it isn't actually our house, that we just use it for playing. I don't want to make him upset, so I say, "Me neither," in a glum tone, squeezing his hand gently._

_We head down the driveway, and right before my mom knocks on the door, she reminds us to "be on your best behavior."_

_Now, I'm tempted to act rude just to embarrass her. I won't do it, though. I have to be a good role model for Mikey._

_Less than a minute later, a blonde woman opens the door. She doesn't look much like the motherly type, but a small boy appears behind her, standing on his toes to try and see out the door._

_My mom starts introducing us, the other woman nodding and smiling. I hardly hear a word after their hellos, because I get a good look at the boy._

_He's really short, about Mikey's height, but he looks to be about my age. He has black hair and a lanky frame despite his height. I smile at him, and I feel my cheeks go hot for some reason. He smiles back shyly, waving subtly from behind his mother._

_"This is Frank," the woman says, letting her son walk out of the house._

_Mikey waves, staring at the ground, while my mother smiles at the boy. He looks at me, and we share a brief moment of eye contact. He sticks out his hand to shake, and I bring up my left hand, which makes it kind of awkward, as my brother is busy clinging to my right one._

_"Why don't you come in?" Frank's mom says, holding the door open for us to enter. My mother walks in first, following her to what must be the kitchen, and Frank, Mikey, and I are left on the doorstep. He sits down on the concrete, patting the ground next to him, inviting me to do the same._

_"Mikes," I say, "go find Mom, okay?"_

_Mikey nods, letting go of my hand and scurrying inside._

_"Hi," I say to Frank, and he smiles back._

_"Hi," he says softly. I like his voice._

_"I like your name," I say after a minute. "I'm Gerard."_

_He smiles at me again, and his face is red, but it's probably from the heat. "Do you want to be friends?" he asks in a sad tone, looking down at his black Converse._

_I nod. "Yeah," I say enthusiastically. "How old are you? I'm ten."_

_"I'm nine," he replies, stretching his arms out. When he brings them back down, his hand lands on top of mine on the ground, but he quickly moves it, blushing. I pretend I don't notice it, but the truth is, I wish he would've kept it there._

_I grin at him, finally glad to have a friend that I'm not related to._


	2. Liking One Guy And Being Gay Are Two Completely Different Things And Should Never Be Confused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahaha  
> HAHAHAHAHAHAHA  
> I said once a week  
> It's been a month  
> Haha I'm such an amazing procrastinator  
> So skilled  
> Yes yes  
> Anyway here  
> Enjoy this thing I wrote in *checks watch* 15 minutes  
> I know chapter one is longer leave me alone  
> I think I like chapter one way better  
> Who even reads my shit lmao

Frank flops down backwards on my bed, blowing his hair out of his face and giving me a look. I can't quite place what the look means, but it must have something to do with the dance tomorrow night.

I drop my bag on the floor, slumping in my desk chair. "Did you ask Jamia out yet?" I say, making friendly conversation, trying to hide my extremely unfriendly tone.

He sighs and then pouts. "No. I think someone else asked her already." He curls up into a ball on my bed, burying his face in my pillow.

I've told him it's annoying when he does it, but I actually like it a lot. It's cute. And my sheets smell like him for a while after.

"That sucks," I say, trying to sound bummed out for my best friend.

He nods. "Yeah." He frowns, rubbing his eyes like a child -- not crying, just out of habit.

I think I was maybe twelve or thirteen when I acknowledged my crush on Frank. I'm not gay, despite my crush on another boy. I'm not straight, either. Maybe I just like Frank.

I've considered telling him in the four years I've known this, but always decided against it, out of fear of losing my best friend.

He's been hopelessly in love with Jamia Nestor, since they were put in the same section in band in sixth grade. I don't really get what he sees in her, to be honest. Sure, she's pretty, but that seems to be it. Maybe I just don't know her well enough.

I would understand if she liked Frank, though. Who wouldn't?

He's nice, and funny, and really cute, and he plays guitar really well. And he has a _really_ nice body. All those times I've seen him naked in the locker room, it's taken everything in me to not get hard.

He sits up suddenly, distracting me from my thoughts. "Have you asked a girl yet?"

I don't like the way he specified a girl. It makes me a little fidgety and uncomfortable, but I don't say anything about it. "No. And I probably won't, to be honest." 

He frowns, crossing his legs. "Why?"

"I don't like anyone," I lie. I probably should've said I didn't like any girls. That way I wouldn't be lying and I wouldn't feel do guilty.

He rolls his eyes and starts to laugh. "Gerard, that's _bullshit_."

"No it's not!" I say, probably a little too defensively.

"Is it Lindsey?" he asks, kind of in a blunt tone. 

I blink, trying to remember if I even know a Lindsey. Not that I can recall. There's a girl in my algebra class, and I always thought her name was Alyssa. Knowing the way I pay attention, it's likely that her name actually is Lindsey.

I shake my head, trying to be convincing. "Ew, no."

Frank shakes his head, smirking. "You are _such_ a liar. I saw the way you were looking at her the other day in algebra."

The "way I was looking at her the other day in algebra" was me spacing out and struggling to remember what the answers were for the chemistry homework.

It might be better that he thinks I like Lindsey, actually. On one hand, I'm lying to my favorite person in the world about who I like. On the other, I tell the truth to my favorite person in the world, that I'm hopelessly in love with him, and risk losing him.

I'd much rather lie about who I like.

I nod, now staying neutral. "Yeah, right," I mutter sarcastically.

He smiles, and its a half smile, where only one corner of his mouth goes up. "Whatever you say, Gee."

My face goes hot at the nickname. It's not like he doesn't call me that often, but combined with the half smile? I think my insides might melt out of cuteness.

I hide my face in my hoodie before he can see. "English homework," I say matter-of-factly, successfully changing the subject.


	3. Remember When We Were Kids And Everything Was A Whole Lot Simpler? Yeah, Me Neither

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the time skips are confusing haha  
> I'm a dumbass B)  
> If anyone needs me to explain it  
> Not that anyone will lmao  
> Just tell me  
> Ye  
> On a side note  
> I can't write long chapters help

_"Gerard?" Frank asks quietly, crouching and poking the puddle of mud with a stick. "Can I ask you something?"_

_I shift uncomfortably, sitting cross-legged on the rock in the parking lot. Frank's questions were usually weird, and pretty obvious, considering the fact that his parents kept him oblivious to the world in every possible way. "Yeah." I search the ground for another stick, wanting to poke the mud, too._

_"What's gay?" he says loudly, staring up at me with wide hazel eyes._

_My own eyes widen in shock, surprised that he would ask such a thing. In fact, it's taking everything in me to not dart over to him and clamp my hand over his mouth. Thankfully, though, I don't think anyone heard that._

_"Don't say that!" I hiss, standing up suddenly and dropping the stick I had just found. I step over the mud and couch next to him. "Haven't you seen the news?"_

_He shook his head, frowning and becoming embarrassed. "I heard my parents saying it was bad and then they wouldn't tell me-"_

_I cut him off. "At school, in current events, we're learning about HIV, right?"_

_Frank nods, a confused expression forming on his face. "What does that have to do with gay?"_

_"Gay means you're a boy and you like boys," I say quickly, in a hushed voice. "And if you're gay then you're gonna get AIDS."_

_His face slowly turns from confusion to horror. "What if I'm gay?" he asks in a panicked tone._

_I deflate slightly. I guess I had kind of been hoping for a different reaction._

_I think I like Frank._

_But that doesn't make me gay, right? Can't I like Frank without being gay? Liking one guy and being gay are completely different._

_Right?_

_Why should I even have to label it?_

_"Gerard?" Frank says quietly, breaking me from my thoughts._

_I look up. I wish he could let the subject be, but I'm not mad at him. "Yeah?"_

_"A-am I gonna get AIDS?"_

_I bite my lip. I do have to admit, I am a little scared of getting it. But maybe if I just keep it a secret and suppress it, then I won't contract it._

_"Frankie, I don't think you're gay," I say finally. "I mean, only you can know if you are, but-" I sigh out of frustration, struggling to put what I'm trying to say into words. "I don't think being gay is bad."_

_He raises his eyebrows at me. "My parents said it was bad-"_

_"Your parents also think Batman is the devil," I point out, hoping that he'll see my point._

_He shrugs. "I guess." He looks up at me through his eyelashes, his face still turned towards the mud. "Are you gay?"_

_I shake my head, no longer enjoying the conversation. "I don't want AIDS."_

_He shrugs, as if my statement made sense. ”You know that girl, Jamia?" he asks after a moment._

_I wrinkle my nose. Jamia Nestor was the one who got Ray Toro in trouble in second grade after daring him to say a swear. "She sits behind me."_

_"I like her," he says casually, leaning back against the rock next to me._

_My first instinct is to laugh, but I force myself to bite my tongue._

_Jamia Nestor?_

_Of the seven billion people in this world, Frank has to like Jamia Nestor?_

_"Why?" is probably the nicest thing I can muster._

_He shrugs. "She's pretty."_

_I guess. "Yeah. I don't like anyone, though," I add quickly, seeing the look on his face._

_He giggles. "No one?"_

_I laugh, unsure why this is so amusing to him. "No?"_

_He keeps smiling, glancing down at his watch, and then frowns. "I have to go home."_

_Even though we live next door, we usually never go home together._

_"Oh, alright," I mutter. "I'll see you tomorrow?"_

_Frank nods. "At school."_

_And like that, he's gone, and I'm left staring at the spot where he was sitting moments before._


	4. Girl Talk Doesn't Mean Boys Discussing Banging A Certain Girl Whose Name Starts With J

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are these chapter titles I-

"She said yes! She said yes, she said yes, she said yes!" Frank screams into the mouthpiece of the phone, temporarily deafening me.

Apparently, he had just called Jamia's house and asked her to the dance, and she accepted. I bet her parents were thrilled about getting a phone call at eleven at night from a boy who wants to bang their daughter.

I try to hide the bitterness and pain that would've no doubt made an appearance in my voice if I hadn't tried to mask it. "Really? That's awesome!"

This is not awesome.

"I'm happy for you," I continue.

I hate everything.

I hear him sigh. "Do you think she said yes because she felt bad, or no one asked her yet, or she actually likes me?"

I suddenly feel awkward. These are the kinds of conversations that girls have in their pajamas reading magazines. Not the kind that insecure teenage boys with an addiction to punk rock have.

"I don't see why she wouldn't like you," I say finally. It's not like I'm lying. Why _wouldn't_ she like him?

He snorts. "Why's that?"

_Oh fuck._

I feel my palms start to get sweaty, even though we're talking on the phone, safely inside our houses. He can't see me sweating and blushing.

_Fucking relax._

"Just, uh. You know, um. I heard her talking about you," I blurt out. It's the first time I've ever lied to Frank. It's scary how easy it is to do.

I hear a confused frown in his voice. "Really? What did she say?"

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

"I'm not really sure, I just heard your name." I just have to keep lying to cover up the first lie that I only told to save my own ass.

"Huh."

"I wouldn't say anything about it, though," I say quickly.

"I wasn't going to," he muttered distractedly.

"I'm sorry," I squeak, suddenly embarrassed. I squeeze the phone cord in my fist. I feel a panic attack coming on.

Frank must sense this, because he immediately starts apologizing and asking if he needs to come over.

"N-no, it's fine, I-"

"Are you sure?" he interrupts.

I have to admit, I kind of like it when he worries about me like this. I know it's dumb, but it makes me feel special. Like I'm the only thing that matters. I want to drag this out, make it last, but I already feel guilty about lying to him about something stupid.

"Yeah. Thanks, though." I breathe deeply, willing myself to calm down.

"Well. Anyway," he says abruptly, quickly changing the subject. "Do you think I should wear a tie?"

Oh god. The clothing talk. It's starting.

"Probably," I say, but it's only because I like seeing him in a tie. He looks hot in a tie.

He groans. "I don't like ties."

"At least you know how to tie one," I mutter. It's one of the benefits of having a dad that didn't leave you and your pregnant mom when you were three.

"Sorry," he says quietly, and I feel like I've upset him.

Things didn't used to be like this when we were little. The tiniest things wouldn't piss us off, or make us upset. It's only been the past few weeks. I wonder what happened.

"It's okay, I-"

I'm interrupted by Mikey walking into the kitchen in his pajamas, which consist of a black t-shirt and blue and red Spider-Man pants. 

When he sees me on the phone, he takes a pen and pad of paper from the drawer, scribbling something and showing it to me.

For a moment, I forget I'm still on the phone with Frank, but then I hear his heavy breathing and I realize I still have the receiver pressed against the side of my face.

I read the paper. He wants to call Pete.

When Mikey was nine, he was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, making it harder for him to communicate and make friends and shit. So when he came home, whispering to me that he had made a friend named Pete, I was surprised.

At first, I thought he was making him up, like an imaginary friend or something. But as it turns out, Pete Wentz is a very real, very awkward, teenage boy who is best friends with my little brother.

"Frank, I, uh. I gotta go. Mikes needs the phone."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him pout at the nickname, but there's no way I'm gonna stop calling him that.

"Oh, alright, see you tomorrow?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'll meet you in the courtyard."

"Okay, Gee. G'night," he says.

"G'night," I say in return, and he hangs up.

I hand the phone to Mikey. "Don't stay up too late, alright?"

"O-okay," he says in a shaky voice. He only talks out loud like that to me and Pete, not even our mom.

The doctor said the stutter might never go away, that it all depended on how patient other people were with him.

I head upstairs, hearing Mikey's stuttering voice talking to Pete, before I close the door.

Only when the light is off, and I'm safely under the covers, do I let the tears fall.


End file.
